He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point. He had nothing against the reusable tote initiative, which had been one of Lauren’s pet projects this year. They’d reached her office, which he hadn’t been in since the day he messed with her chair. He couldn’t even remember at this point what had inspired him to do it.
She was sitting in that chair now, pushing into her desk and already focused on her computer screen, as if she simply had too much important work to do to give him one more second of her time. “I know exactly why you want to work together,” Lauren said, “and I’ve carried the weight of enough slackers doing group projects in school. No, thank you.”
The word slacker blinked in the air between them like a neon sign, and she still wasn’t looking at him. At this point, Asa was already regretting his impulsive decision to suggest partnering with Lauren. He wouldn’t want to deal with this shit all month. At the same time, he was damned if he was going to retreat now.
“You didn’t seem as opposed to working with Daniel.”
“Maybe if you were as respectful in the way you asked . . .” She lifted a shoulder, as if it couldn’t be helped. She lifted her coffee cup to take a sip, and he took a perverse delight when she made a face at the surprise of only getting cold dregs.
“Personally, if I were as respectful as Daniel, I wouldn’t sit front and center at a staff meeting if I planned to be on my phone the whole time.”
He’d landed one there. He could tell by the way her mouth pinched together. Finally, she gave up the pretense of getting back to work and leaned back in her chair, looking up at him. From this angle, he could see the slight shadow at her V-neck top, the delicate silver rose pendant she always wore resting against the pale skin of her throat. He glanced around the office instead, taking it in.
It was small and utilitarian. She’d been there two years, but she didn’t appear to have personalized the space at all, unless you counted the colored Post-its at the bottom of her computer monitor with scribbled reminders or the yellow legal pad where she was keeping some kind of list. Otherwise, it was a filing cabinet, her desk, and a single fake plant in the corner that he knew had been there since before he’d been hired ten years ago. The only nod to any wall art was a framed poster of an almost offensively generic winter scene, and somehow Asa knew that she hadn’t selected that, either.
“Why do you want to work together, anyway?” Lauren asked. “It’s pretty obvious that there’s no . . . I mean, that we don’t . . .”
She didn’t finish her thoughts, but she didn’t have to. There’s no love lost between us or we don’t get along. Either was true.
“I’m a naturally collaborative person,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow, as though she doubted that very much. “Well, I’m a naturally competitive person,” she said. “And there has to be something in it for the winner of this little contest. A bonus, a promotion, a new title, something.”
That caught his attention. “Why do you say that?”
“Think about it. Why not open this up to more people? Dolores could have even more ideas to choose from. She selected the three of us because we’re basically her short list for whatever this thing is.”
“But why ask Daniel, then?” Asa pointed out, bracing himself against her desk. “What title can the Crown Prince of Cold World get promoted to?”
She chewed on her lower lip, as if really considering this question. His gaze dropped of its own accord to her mouth—what was wrong with him?—before landing on the notepad with her scratchy handwriting on it. 3 call re lscaping quote, 1 update vendor ss A-C, 4 cat pants . . .
Her hand came down on the notepad, dragging it back toward her where he could no longer read it. He had no idea what to even make of such a cryptic list. Cat pants?
“I really do have a lot to do,” she said, one hand still covering the notepad, the other double-clicking something on her computer. He’d be willing to bet she was just opening and closing random folders until he left. Which he really should do—he’d come in early for the meeting but wasn’t actually on shift for hours. He had time to run home and take a quick nap. The thought had seemed appealing when he woke up hours before his usual alarm, but now he was feeling wired and sleep was the last thing on his mind.
“What is it that you’re doing tonight?”
She blinked up at him, as if trying to figure out why he was asking. If she had even half a guess, it was more than he had. It wasn’t his business. He wasn’t about to ask her out—if she’d shot down Daniel that fast, he could only imagine what she’d say if he tried. And he definitely didn’t want to try.
But maybe that was the part that got him curious. Whatever it was, it was more important than the chance to have dinner with Daniel Alvarez. His impression of Lauren had always been that she had very little life outside of work, but maybe he was wrong.
“I’m—” She grabbed her coffee mug, standing so abruptly she sent her chair flying back against the wall. “I’m going to get more coffee, since this morning was such a disaster. I look forward to seeing what you come up with for your proposal.”
The last part was delivered so stiffly that it was obviously more a formal send-off than a genuine expression of interest. And before Asa could come back with a retort, she was gone, leaving him standing alone in her own office.
Also leaving her notepad completely unguarded, sitting next to her keyboard. He slid it closer, his eyes scanning the rest of the entries after the cryptic cat pants. It was clearly a to-do list, mixed up and abbreviated in some trademark Lauren way. He was lucky it wasn’t in binary.
Grinning, he grabbed a pen.
Chapter
Three
It had been Lauren’s every intention to leave work a few minutes early, but of course that meant she ended up stuck on a call at five minutes past five.
“Your payment does show on the ledger, Mr. Stockard,” she said, trying to keep her voice patient. “If you look at it again, you’ll see we applied three fifteen to the overdue balance on October’s booth rental, and one eighty-five toward this month’s bill. That’s why the amount due is—”
“Yes,” Mr. Stockard cut in, “but where is my five-hundred-dollar payment! I brought it in myself. And I don’t see it on the ledger!”
Mr. Stockard was one of Cold World’s vendors who rented space along Wonderland Walk to sell their wares. In his case, it was adorable hand-whittled woodland creatures that were surprisingly popular among hipsters. He also insisted on paying his rent via check, which he brought in person, always for a number that was not listed on the ledger that Lauren had to provide him to try to get him trued up . . . and then the cycle continued.